


Through the Flames

by lyonet



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyonet/pseuds/lyonet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Merlin lays eyes on his future king, this is what he sees: a long sure arm swinging through the air, a bright fast smile, knives slamming into a target held by a terrified lackey. (Arthur is the kind of person who has lackeys – Merlin can tell this at once). Arthur is laughing. It's a joke, not an attack. Merlin can see the boy under the target is in no real danger but he's so scared, and surely Arthur can't really want to scare someone that much?</p>
<p>Merlin’s arm aches for hours afterward, a reminder that a smiling prince is dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first fic I wrote for Merlin, while I was watching season three and having feelings about the astonishing levels of screwed-up achieved by the Pendragon family, and wanting to sit everybody down for counselling. Sadly, this is not the fic in which everybody gets sat down for counselling.

The first time Arthur Pendragon lays eyes on his future wizard, this is what he sees: nervous smile, big mouth, wrong place and wrong words. Arthur goads him into a fight and twists his arm with ease. His father would be pleased to see that. Merlin is Arthur's height but thin and gangly. He's the kind of boy who is so busy staring at the sky he doesn't look where he's going – the kind who thinks he can make friends everywhere if he just tries hard enough. The kind of boy Arthur has never been.

The first time Merlin lays eyes on his future king, this is what he sees: a long sure arm swinging through the air, a bright fast smile, knives slamming into a target held by a terrified lackey. (Arthur is the kind of person who has lackeys – Merlin can tell this at once). Arthur is laughing. It's a joke, not an attack. Merlin can see the boy under the target is in no real danger but he's so scared, and surely Arthur can't really want to scare someone that much?

Merlin’s arm aches for hours afterward, a reminder that a smiling prince is dangerous.

If he could use magic freely, he'd show Arthur he's not to be messed with. As it is, the next time they meet Arthur picks up the fight right where they left off, like Merlin exists solely to be humiliated, and all Merlin can use are little tricks. Enough to disconcert Arthur, enough to knock him off his feet. Not enough to tackle his friends too, all with swords at their hips and loyalty to prove. Merlin braces himself to be beaten bloody. Instead Arthur calls him a brave idiot and lets him go.

Is that why, afterwards, at the feast, when the witch has ensnared the court in sleep and aimed a dagger at Arthur's heart, Merlin leaps to save him?

No. He'd have done it anyway. He'd have done that for anyone.

* * *

He doesn't know who is more appalled by his 'reward' – Arthur, burdened with an untrained and irritating manservant, or himself, burdened with a rude, dismissive prince. But Merlin doesn’t have long to sulk about it. He’s secretly studying magic with Gaius, saving Camelot every other day…sometimes he thinks Uther is right, magic must be bad, look how many times an honoured guest turns out to be a monster in disguise, how many times a spelled weapon is aimed at Arthur's back. Merlin has to be there to intercept them all. It’s a very time-consuming destiny.

And he doesn't expect Arthur to be _grateful_ exactly, he doesn't know what that would even look like, but when the chores aren't done and he is clumsy fastening his master's armour, he wishes he could say why. He wants to see something other than exasperation in Arthur's eyes (which are summer-sky blue, which half the time look right through him like he's nothing at all but sometimes, just sometimes, fix on him and make him feel like the only person in the room who matters).

Arthur has had a string of manservants, all of whom have occupied too much of his personal space and let him down in a myriad of little irritating ways. He envies Morgana her eternally reliable Gwen, the sense of camaraderie he sees between them. Merlin is not just annoying, he's _disastrous –_ at the centre of every trouble to come to Camelot, showing himself in the worst possible light to people who matter, making Arthur look bad too. He talks too much. He thinks too much. He is puppy-dog eager to please, but his head is permanently lodged in the clouds and he has minimal control over his own gangly limbs.

He tries hard, Arthur has to admit. He gets better with practice. A _bit_ better.

A day in the life of Camelot's crown prince is generally devoted to weapons training with the knights, not just because Arthur needs to assert his own skill and show the men they can trust him in battle, he needs to be sure he can trust them too. He was learning to ride before he could walk; the first toy he can remember was a little wooden sword that he carried everywhere (and that Morgana stole whenever she could, daring him to climb onto the roof or walk through the dark catacombs before she'd give it back.) Arthur was born to lead, raised to fight. If some of the knights can't take their eyes off him in the practice yards, well, what harm can extra incentive do?

He knows Merlin stares when he thinks Arthur isn't looking, and that does no harm either. Arthur is so far out of his reach he might as well try to catch a star. (That actually seems like something Merlin might try; he has no sense of the impossible and is always forgetting his place, but there are bounds he never oversteps.) The admiration is nice. Arthur, who always slept in a nightshirt before, takes to sleeping bare-chested. Since Merlin seems to like it so much.

Everyone wants Arthur. It is a fact of life, like gravity and laws against magic.

It's no wonder he has an ego the size of a kingdom, being Uther's beloved boy and Morgana's favourite (not that she’d admit it) and Gwen's idle daydream. Women and men alike stop to stare when he goes by. Little girls offer flowers and blush when he smiles. He's the focus of not one but _two_ love spells. What with the borderline elopements and dramatic duels that only an enchanted Arthur would actually undertake, he gets a reputation for being romantic.

The charm wears off fast if you have to deal with him first thing in the morning, when he's foul-tempered and half-awake (also half-dressed, that helps). His admirers don't have to wash his clothes or fetch his food or clean endless piles of armour. They don't get dragged along on hunting trips because Arthur wants a walking spear rack, then gets slapped upside the head for scaring off the deer. Sometimes Merlin would give anything to to slap him back. Or push him up against a tree and kiss him breathless. It says a lot about Arthur that Merlin vacillates so wildly between these fantasies.

There is always a knife aimed at Arthur's heart, poison in his cup, a witch or assassin or wicked stepmother plotting his death. Merlin loses count of the thanks he's owed. He remembers instead every time Arthur pushed him out the way just in time, catching the disembowelling swipe of a sword – he remembers the frantic haste of Arthur downing the druid's potion so that Merlin couldn't take the risk first. Arthur dragging him out of Uther's presence when he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Arthur taking responsibility for Merlin's mistakes, because Uther can't have _him_ thrown out of Camelot. Underneath the arrogance that he wears like a second suit of armour, Arthur is the most honourable person Merlin has ever known. He has a third fantasy: telling Arthur he has magic, Arthur saying he doesn't care. It's a stupid dream.

Everyone wants to get rid of Merlin. It is a fact of life, like oxygen and war.

Arthur has sacked his servant, yelled at him, thrown things at him. What with the charges of sorcery and constant insubordination, Merlin has made a second home in the cells. The king asks his son if he wants a new servant and Arthur says no, this one will do – this one is good. Uther looks blank. He doesn't know how patient Merlin is, how he finds such odd things funny that he makes Arthur laugh when he doesn't want to. Uther probably wouldn't approve of those things if Arthur explained. It sounds too much like Arthur likes his servant.

It's already awkward enough, since Arthur likes Morgana's servant too. If Morgana found out he'd kissed Gwen, she would tease him _mercilessly_. He can't imagine what she'd do if he told her that sometimes he flings an arm around Merlin's shoulders just because he can. That he can't stop showing off when Merlin is around. Morgana, who is proud of never having had a crush, would find that hilarious. It would be like the wooden sword all over again, taunts and dares. He likes it better when they can aim their mockery at the same target, the golden children of Camelot laughing together.

When she's taken, it opens a crack in Arthur's world. When his father says, _we will not stop until she is found_ , he wonders that it even needs saying. Of course they'll search. Of course they'll find her. When they do, he pulls her close and makes promises. She'll be safe now. She'll be safe always.

Days later, Uther loses his mind and an army marches on Camelot. Arthur is not used to his promises being so easily broken. He feels like he's going a bit mad himself as the panic sets in. And Merlin isn't there – Merlin is gone too, with no explanation – Arthur has never felt so alone. He haunts Uther's bedside. He prowls the castle corridors, doing his best to ignore the anxious looks that follow in his wake. Morgana tries to reassure him, but her smile is brittle. She's not ready for this.

When Merlin waltzes back in Arthur's room like he's not been gone an hour, Arthur is incensed. Would he be quite so angry if he wasn't quite so relieved? He doesn't want to think about that question.

Being Arthur's manservant means putting up with a dozen variations on impossible. It means living under the shadow of Uther's paranoia. Today it also means facing down an army of skeletons while a sorceress lays siege. Amidst the fire and frenzy, Merlin feels he should maybe reconsider his life choices.

Not right now, though. He can see his prince through the flames, and Arthur is shouting his name.


End file.
